


Purple

by DropofWater



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluffy Feelings, M/M, fluffy hair, general FLUFF OKAY, seriously so much fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:13:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropofWater/pseuds/DropofWater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one with mood color-changing hair</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purple

_The result of one of my and[sandflyfever](http://tmblr.co/mvnX3Mybv44_a3srlZPNxrg)'s  typical conversations that somehow always seem to end up as all-caps Sterek AUs. _

Stiles can pinpoint the exact moment that Derek’s hair starting turning purple.  It wasn’t a strange thing in itself;  _everyone’s_  hair changes color with their mood. The colors are different for every person: for some people red means happy, for others red might mean terribly sad. 

At this point, Stiles has known Derek for long enough that he can decipher most of his hair moods-red when Derek is content (Stiles has rarely seen that one, but he’s caught Derek quietly reading in his loft a few times with red hair so bright it looked like a traffic light), blue when he’s mad (Stiles has seen that color  _a lot)_ , and yellow when he’s annoyed (that color seems to occur a lot in Stiles’ presence).  The purple hair, however,showed up with no warning or explanation.

Stiles had been making a pot of coffee in the loft kitchen while Derek and the rest of the pack were in the living room discussing an upcoming training session.  He’d poured himself a cup, and seeing that there was enough liquid in the pot for another, poured a second and carried it into the living room with him.

Noticing how tired Derek looked that day, Stiles casually handed Derek the mug as he passed by.  A few moments later, Derek’s hair turned purple. 

 

Stiles had been startled, staring at Derek’s hair for a moment with a dazed expression on his face.  He recovered quickly though, averted his eyes, and kept quiet.  You can’t just  _ask_  someone about their hair color, after all-especially not Derek, who is emotionally closed off as it is.

Stiles didn’t think he’d see the purple hair again for a while, thought maybe it was an anomaly, but it made  _another_  appearance only a few days later. 

Stiles  had been at Derek’s loft again, waiting for Scott to stop playing chess with Isaac so he could give him a ride home.  Much to Stiles’s dismay,  Derek was sitting on the couch watching some boring house renovation show, at a time when Stiles knew for a fact that there was a Star Wars marathon on.  So Stiles had tried to subtly grab the remote and change the channel before Derek could notice.

Except that when Stiles grabbed the remote he completely fumbled it, flailing around wildly in attempt to grab it before it crashed to the floor.  He tripped over the coffee table an fell to the ground, bringing both the remote and a glass of water that had been on the table down with him.

He lay there for a moment with his limbs splayed, shirt rucked up above his stomach, and water dripping onto his face before slowly bringing himself to a sitting position.  He looked up, face flushed with embarrassment, only to see that Derek’s hair was purple again.  Stiles silently handed Derek the remote and didn’t try changing the channel again.

The purple hair became more and more frequent over the next few weeks-until it became present  _all the time_.  Or at least, every time Stiles saw him. Not knowing the meaning of it was driving Stiles  _crazy_ , so one night he makes the executive decision to do some detective work and figure it out. 

He almost feels kind of shady about prying into Derek’s feelings, but somehow manages to convince himself that it’s for the good of the pack.  A pack should be in tune with each other’s emotions after all, right?

He starts with Scott. 

“So,” he says casually, as he and Scott battle each other in Halo on Stiles’ bedroom floor.  “Have you noticed that Derek’s looking a little…purple, lately?”

Scott doesn’t turn away from the game, but answers him quickly. “Yeah, but…I’m not about to ask him about it, you know?”

“Well, duh,” Stiles responds. “But, what do you think it means?”

“I don’t know,” Scott admits. “Maybe he’s, like,  going through something.”

“But it’s purple  _all the time_ ,” Stiles presses.

Scott shakes his head in Stiles’ periphery.  “No, man, I think it only happens in group situations.  Like I’ve seen him alone and it’s never been purple, but when we’re all there…bright purple.”

“Huh,” Stiles says, filing the information away to process just before Scott’s hair turns a proud shade of magenta as he defeats him in the game.

Stiles tries Lydia next. Then Isaac.  Then Allison.  

All three of them give similar versions of the same theory. Derek’s hair is purple at pack meetings, but falls back into one of his usual colors when he’s one-one-one with someone.  Stiles chalks it up to some kind of group anxiety, or maybe even something positive like pack pride, and plans to never think about it again.

Until he runs into Derek at the grocery store a few days later. 

Stiles sees Derek standing in front of the bacon section, hair his usual mellow black as he surveys the selection.  Grinning, Stiles subtly approaches him and immediately begins to tease him when he reaches his side.

“Are you sure you should be buying bacon?  You might want to start thinking about watching your weight, buddy, you’re getting a little tubby,” he jokes, picking up a pack of bacon and glancing over at Derek.

Derek’s face looks startled at first, before it quickly falls into a scowl as his hair turns….purple.  Again.

"Shut up, Stiles," Derek seethes.

Surprised, Stiles shoves the bacon back onto the shelf.  “Dude, I was just joking,” he says sheepishly.  “Clearly you don’t need to…have you  _seen_  your abs lately? Not that I have, actually, now that I think about it, so I guess technically you  _could_  be getting tubby and I wouldn’t know…”  Derek’s glare intensifies, his hair turning an even  _deeper_  shade of purple _,_ and Stiles starts backing away slowly.

“You’re such a jackass,” Derek says. “My abs aren’t a problem.  You know what  _is_  a problem? You interrupting my grocery shopping with your endless babbling.” _  
_

Stiles nods, moving away because the pieces of the puzzle are all falling into place.  Clearly Derek’s purple hair is a reaction to Stiles-since it’s only showing up up here, where they’re alone, and at pack meetings, where Stiles _always is._  And judging by the current look on Derek’s face, the purple color is not a positive reaction to Stiles’ presence.

“Fine. I’ll just…get out of your hair.”  Stiles says, cringing at his unintentional pun before  fleeing the scene.

Stiles’ mind reels as he crosses the grocery store.  It was clear to him that Derek’s purple hair represented a deeper level of annoyance than his usual yellow.  It was glaringly obvious that Derek was actually completely bothered by, and possibly even  _hated_ _,_ Stiles.

Stiles ran over the evidence in his head.  His new theory explains why Derek’s hair had  gone purple when Stiles had dropped the remote and made a complete fool of himself.  Clearly Derek was also annoyed that Stiles had brought him coffee-catered to him like a freaking  _child_  in front of the whole pack. And now, he was pissed about Stiles berating his figure and his eating choices.  

Shit.  Stiles had thought they were friends.  Sometimes, he’d maybe had even hoped that one day they could potentially be more, but even Derek’s  _hair_  clearly couldn’t stand being in his presence. 

Stiles checks out of the store immediately, leaving to go straight home and wallow.  While tossing and turning in bed that night, he makes a decision to leave Derek alone.  If Derek doesn’t want to be around him, if he is so  _put off_  by his presence, Stiles will make it easier for him. He’ll just…stay away.

Stiles manages to avoid Derek for a  good two weeks.  He doesn’t go to pack meetings, comes up with lazy excuses that he gets Scott to relay for him. He either ignores Derek’s texts, or gives detached, one-word responses. It works, for a while.  Until Scott interferes.

It’s a Thursday night and Stiles is lying on his bed, pretending he can’t make it to that night’s pack meeting.  His phone goes off and he checks it to see a text from Scott.

“Dude, we have a situation,” it reads.

“What kind of situation?” Stiles responds.  He’s supposed to be ‘feeling sick,’ but he figures he could still text even if he actually  _was_  sick.

“A Derek situation,” is Scott’s response.

Stiles bites a thumbnail before responding. “What do you mean?”

“His hair is green.”

 _Shit_.  Stiles knows what green means-the whole  _pack_  does.  Stiles himself has seen Derek’s green hair on only a few occasions he’d prefer to forget-when Boyd died, on the anniversary of the fire, whenever he talks about Laura. Green is bad. Green is sadness; real, deep sadness.

“Did something happen today?  Is it a bad day in history type thing?” Stiles asks.

He frowns at Scott’s response. “No. It’s been like this for a while.”

“For how long?” Stiles types back.

“Pretty much since you stopped coming to pack meetings.”

Another text from Scott follows. “Also, he keeps asking where you are.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and writes back, “I told you, I’m sick.”

“BS,” Scott replies. “You were completely fine at school.”

“It’s complicated.”

Scott’s next response takes a minute. “Ok well can you uncomplicate it?  Clearly Derek needs help getting out of whatever funk he’s in.  He needs the whole pack.”

Stiles scoffs, thinking about the outraged expression Derek had aimed at him in the grocery store.  “I’m sure you can manage without me.”

“Stiles, he’s started wearing  _hats,”_ says Scott’s next text.

 _“_ Hats?” Stiles questions.

“Yes, hats.  So we can’t see how green is hair is.  It’s bad, Stiles.  I’m telling you, he needs all of us.”

Stiles doesn’t know what to say to that.  Doesn’t know how to make it clear to Scott that Derek doesn’t want him around.  Doesn’t know how to tell Scott that the thought of it has been breaking his heart a little bit for the past two weeks.

His phone chimes again. “We’re having a pack pizza party tomorrow night.  7 o’clock.  Please say you’ll come.”

Stiles hesitates.  Derek doesn’t want to see him, and he’s not really feeling up to seeing Derek yet, either.  But Scott clearly really wants him there.

“Fine,” he says, then he tosses his phone across the room.

When Stiles gets to Derek’s loft the next evening, he hesitates before knocking on the door.

It swings open a few moments later and Derek’s standing there, looking….well, kind of terrible, to be honest.  He’s wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt despite the fact that it’s 85 degrees out,  _and_  he’s wearing a knitted cap on his head that’s covering all of his hair.

“Hi,” Stiles says casually. “You cold?”

Derek sighs. “No. What do you want?”

“Pizza,” Stiles answers honestly.

Derek frowns. “I don’t have any.”

Stiles looks at him for a moment, confused. “But Scott said…  
 he trails off for a moment. “Oh  _Christ_.  You have  _got_  to be kidding me.”

“What?” Derek asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing there’s not a pack pizza party happening here tonight?”

“No…” Derek answers slowly.

Stiles sighs. “Alright. well, then I guess I’ll go.”

Stiles turns around, ready to leave, and almost doesn’t hear the small noise of protest that comes out of Derek’s mouth.  Stiles swings back around to face Derek, narrowing his eyes at him.

“What?” he asks.

Derek’s face is closed off though, no emotion showing on his face. “Nothing,” he finally says.

“No,” Stiles goads, “You were going to say something.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek responds.

“Yes, it does. Derek, what is  _up_  with you?”

Derek grits his teeth this time. “ _Nothing_ ,” he repeats. “Go ahead and leave.”

“Of course you want me to leave,” Stiles argues.

"Why would you think that?" Derek asks.

Suddenly, Stiles is mad.  Like, boiling mad.  Like, his hair has probably turned orange mad.

“No, you know what dude?” Stiles seethes. “You don’t get to hide like this.  You’re cheating. Take off your stupid hat.”

“ _No_ ,” Derek argues. “They’re my emotions, I should be able to keep them to myself.”

“Not when the whole  _pack_  is worried about you,” Stiles counters. “Jesus Christ, Scott sent me over here under a stupid  _pizza ruse_  to check up on you. Take. Off. The. Hat.”

Derek doesn’t move.  So Stiles does the first thing that comes to his mind.  He lunges.

The surprise of the move knocks Derek a little off balance, but he’s able to get a hand onto his hat and hold on.  Stiles persists, though grabbing at Derek’s hat, his arms, anything he can reach as they wrestle around the room. 

Eventually, it all comes to an end as they crash onto the ground.  Derek falls down below Stiles, reaching out an arm to break the fall, which leaves Stiles free to grab his hat and launch it across the room.

And there it is.  Derek’s green hair, on full display.  It’s a deeper green than Stiles has ever seen, and his heart aches a little as he wonders what could have made it that way. Stiles can’t help himself; before he knows what he’s doing, he reaches up and runs a hand though Derek’s soft, green, hair.

Except when he does, it’s no longer green.  It turns purple.

Stiles pulls back a bit, his stomach sinking at the sight of the stupid purple hair.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.  I messed up, didn’t I?  Your hair is purple again which means nothing good.” He pauses before barreling on. “ I-Do you hate me?” 

It’s a question that’s been on the forefront of Stiles’ mind for two weeks now, and he can’t _help_  asking Derek.  Now, while he has the chance.  While he’s spent two sleepless weeks acquainting himself with the idea.

Derek just looks at him for a moment, before replying.   “Does it look like I hate you?” he asks softly.

Stiles frowns slightly, taking in what Derek’s saying.  He looks down for a moment, sees where their chests are pressed together, where their faces are only inches apart.  He  feels where Derek’s arm is looped around his back and senses where Derek’s got a thumb tracing circles along his spine.

“Oh,” Stiles breathes out.  Everything truly comes tumbling into place then, and Stiles looks up at Derek, hardly daring to hope for the new conclusion he’s just reached.

“You-“ Stiles starts, but he doesn’t say anymore because the look Derek is giving him is so intense that it stops the words right in his throat.  Then Derek glances farther upward.

“Stiles,” he says quietly, “Your hair is blue.”

“Blue?” he croaks out.  He knows what blue hair means for him.  He remembers the number of times it’d gone embarrassingly blue around Lydia in his earlier high school days.

“Blue,” Derek responds.  His eyes flit back down to Stiles’.

 “What does blue mean?” Derek asks.

“It means-“ Stiles pauses. “What does purple mean?  Because I thought it meant that you like, really hated me, but now I’m starting to think that it could maybe be something else.”

Derek rolls his eyes.  “It means  _this_ , you idiot.”  Then he surges forward, capturing Stiles’ lips with his own.

When they part, Stiles looks down at him, grinning wildly.  “You know,” he says. “I’ve always thought blue and purple looked pretty good together.”


End file.
